


Bedazzle That Hobbit

by Questions3



Series: Fuzzy Footed Foolishness [10]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Female Bilbo, Fluff and Smut, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questions3/pseuds/Questions3
Summary: Thorin just needs to realize Bilbo knows best.





	

 

            The argument had been ridiculous, but then, most of the arguments the King and Queen had were ridiculous. Their very first one had been not even days after meeting where the offended burglar had informed Thorin, none too snippily, that being a grocer was nothing to be ashamed of, and perhaps if dwarrow would see the advantages of valuing their foodstuffs and comforts over shiny rubble they’d not even be in this mess in the first place. That argument had lasted all the way to Rivendell, restarted after they left the cursed elf city and been put to rest only after the incident with Azog and the Carrock. Really the only reason it had taken the tiny breather in Imladris was because they’d devolved into arguing over the elves and why it was beyond inappropriate to behave like ill bred heathens in such a refined city.

            Of course, the Carrock was hardly the end of the arguments as not even an hour after they’d descended the thing they’d all gone to the stream for a quick bath and lo and behold, their burglar was a _lady_. That had ended up sparking the loudest argument to date. It took the combined efforts of the Company, Gandalf, and the sheer impossibility of it to talk the King out of traipsing the tiny female right back to the Shire there and then! But even if that wasn’t going to happen the insufferable twat could still be annoying.

            Seized with guilt over his treatment of the tiny creature _before_ he’d know she was a _she_ it all but tripled after. Thorin began treating her like some porcelain doll, which was amusing until it became damned annoying. The next loudest argument followed the burglar’s last charmed thought on the matter as she shouted at the ponce she was more than capable and had proven it time and again. Was his age causing memory loss? Maybe Óin should look at his head again! It took three days but the King eventually gave in to his temper against the oath he’d made not to argue with the woman again, and they’d been engaged the entire way through Mirkwood.

            It was actually more surprising how _long_ it took the spiders and elves to find them.

            The quietest argument they’d ever had took place in the elf dungeons as Thorin insisted Bilbo save herself and she told him to shut up, she was the only one with sense enough to know what any of them actually needed and being locked away was, surprise!, not it.

            Then there was the dragon and the less said about that the better. The rest of the Company was contemplating how bad Dragon Fire could _really_ be compared to the constant _bickering_.

            Then the war and Thorin having to apologize for the whole ‘gate incident’. Nearly felled the lot of them. Of course, Bilbo took it all with perfect grace. “I bloody _told_ you that rock was _evil_! But did _you_ listen? _No!_ Why would you listen to _me?!_ I’ve only been the one saving your hairy ass the entire way from the Shire!” the only thing that had shut her up was the King suddenly surging in his sick bed to claim her serrated tongue as his own.

            And then Thorin suggested she should go back to her Bagend because he didn’t deserve her. To which she claimed his mouth in a similar fashion and told him in no uncertain terms she vastly preferred his mouth otherwise occupied.

            So it wasn’t surprising to hear the King and Queen were arguing again, it seemed they thrived on it. Didn’t make it any less annoying and most were sure the pair would have the mountain deaf in a years time.

            This argument was sparked by Thorin perceiving his tiny wife slighting him by not wearing any of the myriad gifts he’d bestowed on her.

            “You are the Queen and you wander the halls in bare feet with nothing save the dress on your back! The poorest minor’s wife in the mountain wears more decoration!”

            “Neither of us needs me gallivanting about the mountain in half the Kingdom’s gold stock!”

            “So this _is_ about the gold sickness?!”

            “No you damned fool! It’s about my not being a walking talking status symbol!”

            Of course Thorin was hearing none of it and went off to pout over the guilt he’d probably forever feel over what he’d done when they’d first reclaimed the Mountain. As a result he worked through the day on paperwork, treaties and trades, then he’d worked the rest of his energy off on the training fields with Dwalin. The guard eventually slapped his cousin in the head and told him to go bathe and talk to his wife the way he was wanting to the moment he’d stormed away from her. He’d grumbled but complied, walking to their shared chambers in scowling majesty, stomping through the sitting room into the bedroom where the attaché bath was located. The physical and mental exhaustion weighed him as he moved through the chambers.

            The moment Thorin caught sight of his Queen, however, he was no longer aware of the weariness of his feet, the pain in his head, or the ache in his back. No the only sensations he was feeling seemed to center in a more southerly position and be filled with heat and _need_.

            She stood in front of the fire in their bedchamber, glittering in the shadowy light. Curly black hair had been tamed into dozens of tiny black braids, each clasped at the ends by a bead or fastening he’d gifted her through the years. The one from their courtship in front left, the one from their wedding front right. Clumps of braids were lifted away from her face and ears by larger clasps glittering in gold and ruby, at the top of her head. On her ears were the delicate cuffs he’d hammered himself to fit securely but softly around the sensitive points. A chain led from one down to another closer to her earlobe and then to the one that clasped the edge of her right nostril. Each barely there but for the glimmer of icy fires the diamond studs gave off in the light.

            Riding her forehead was the mithril circlet he’d had commissioned for her smaller frame, the one declaring her queen of this realm and all Durin Folk. Clutching below the circlet was a chainmail veil he’d commissioned, made so delicately and minutely if appeared gossamer where it hung under her eyes. Eyes that glowed liquid gold in the light that danced off the severe kohl lining she’d painted herself with for the evening. Her cheeks and face were sprinkled in a shimmering golden dust he’d bought her months ago for Durin’s Day. Plump lips painted a deep coral that had the ring in the center gleaming by contrast.

            Trailing further down she’d draped her neck in chokers and chains he’d used to garner her attentions during their courtship, all falling in as a gleaming golden and silver jeweled waterfall, barely hiding the plump breasts from his gaze, treated similarly in the golden dust. Her dusky areola teasingly visible through the chinks in the chains, nipples perked at the sensations the cold metals were having on her nerve endings, but hiding with the shifting clink of each breath she took.

            Armbands trailed down softly muscled biceps. She’d been training with Dwalin and Nori since the quest, becoming proficient with her letter opener, but deadly with her throwing knives, three of which she’d secured to each arm, their jeweled hilts gleaming from the pinkish hued copper holsters he’d commissioned. Metal bracers jingled as the tiny chains and bracelets that dazzled them clinked with any stray motion, and her hands were drowning in rings of every size and metal known to Arda.

            At her waist sat the jeweled belt he’d given her on her birthday, riding low over jutting hips. The equally bedazzled scabbard held the elegant handle of Sting at her side. But he’d hardly made a habit of supplying her in belts, so he saw his nymph had improvised, taking the larger necklaces and the longer chains to wrap around her ample hips and waist. Pendants and medallions jingling together at each sway of the supple hips, hiding a small nest from his view that led to the moist cavern he’d happily devoted his life to mapping.

            Her legs were sporting likewise repurposed jewelry, mostly chokers that hung tightly to the thick, muscled thighs like some bewitching garters (an innovation that took root in his mind for later seeing as he’d never thought to engage his wealth in such worthy endeavor). Ending at her ankles each sporting anklets with little bells that he’d thought would help him keep track of the silent movements of his beloved. As it turned out he’d once again underestimated her abilities. Finally he ended his catalogue with curiously large feet, which also sparkled through the neatly combed hair as more rings glimmered on the smaller digits, where she’d been able to secure some of her larger jewels to them (a further note for later forge work).

            As he allowed his eyes to trail back up to the smirking temptress he felt a deep animal heat rage through him as his chest trembled in an appreciative growl. Sparkling cheeks flushed crimson under the attention, breath hitched in a tinkling made almost lyrical by the various metals and jewels lying there. A shiver mapped its way down the hobbits body in soft clinking and clanging, like wind chimes in the spring. He’d never thought arousal could be so musical but it wouldn’t be a normal day in Erebor had his hobbit not taught him something new. Slowly he stalked her and stood within inches of the heated glowing body, staring down into gold eyes blown wide with hunger to match his own. With nary a thought beyond, _mine_ , he wrenched the trembling body to his own hard one in a cacophony of riches and sank his mouth into the only treasure the room held that he’d ever actually need. He let his hands trail over the hidden areas of the sparkling body, sliding up beneath body warmed metals to cup a breast while his other hand fell lower to grasp at an even plumper ass. The gasp was gratifying and the purr ingratiating as he trailed lower still and hefted a thigh up and over his hip.

            It wasn’t long as he was trailing his suddenly gold tinted lips down the length of her jaw and towards her neck that he found the flaw in this plan. With a growl he yanked the offending bits of metal off the delicately curved length and threw them to the floor across the room as he bared the desired skin beneath. He laved at the glittering flesh, lapping the dust off to expose honey brown skin he loved to taste and touch. He found himself less than pleased with the metallic overtones that blocked the sun kissed flavors of his bride from his starving appetites. Growling all the harsher when he wasn’t able to remove it from his pallet through her mouth, the deep tincture she’d painted it with leaving a waxy flavor where there should have been honey and musk.

            Letting go of her leg to wipe at more encumbrances he felt a small shock as cool air replaced the warmth of her as she let her leg fall down with a less than elegant thud. It was then he looked up into burning eyes and realized as thwarted as he felt by his gifts she was drowning in them, unable to move for the weight of them, only able to accept his caresses, not engage in her own pleasures and his body. It would be erotic another time, but he found himself craving her fierce nature at the moment, the glittering treasure merely a nuisance to their mutual lust.

            With more grumbling he reached up and tore the circlet and veil from her head, something in his chest settling as the glittering golden gaze was replaced with the warm honey one he’d actually fallen in love with. Racing large hands down he felt nothing but pure beastly satisfaction at the clattering of broken chains. With a swift motion that had a clear crystal gasp falling from the mussed plump red lips he picked his wife up and marched her to their bath, setting her down on the counter he softly slid the bands from her thighs and ankles, taking extra care of the jewels on her toes. He gently deposited a kiss and nibble to each finger and toe he freed as he disarmed her. Finally he had just the belt and necklace skirt left, which he eased off with a care, not intending to damage his sanctuary. Upon its release he swiftly lapped at the opening to ensure its welcome and continued health. The mews coming from his little wife were more than satisfying. The sudden clenching at his braids and hair thrilling, raising rumbling growls from him that echoed through his hobbit and caused even more uncontrolled thrashing and near suffocated him in the pillowed embrace of her bounteous thighs.

            Once she was all but bare of adornment he took care of his own clothes in less than a moment and grasped her to him, sharing a gasp as they appreciated the contrasts between their bodies. Hers, pillowed and smooth, his, a textured pelt, both shifting and spiking reactions with each breathe and contact. Then he made way to the hot spring in their chamber. Sinking into the water he was pleased to see the gold flakes scatter from her skin almost instantly. Soap saw the rest gone and he eased the beads from her hair, only keeping the three she traditionally walked the halls in, their courtship, wedding and the Durin braids. Her mouth was once more the soft pink he loved to nibble into a rose red, skin that tawny shade she gained from working in her garden and he was once more looking into honey brown eyes that glowed with love for him and him alone.

            Once he’d found his wife again he could contain his hunger no more and grasped her up to his waist in the water. She quickly wrapped her legs about him and met his thrust into the rich sweetness that was her plump body with a deep, throaty moan. Her lips rained over his face, hands trailed over his arms and chest, through his hair and tangled into his braids, pulling as he continued to rock in and out, pace becoming faster and faster with each gasped moan and lust crazed encouragement. His mouth ravaged the bounty of her breasts, nipping at the pert tips and laving them a moment later, his hands clenching her pillowed ass, using it for leverage to help intensify both their pleasure as he continued to thrust into his Queen. And then she fell apart, arching in his arms, keening as a wild thing, damp curls raining water around them as her head trembled in the release. Her legs clamped onto his waist as her inner muscles tried to drag or infuse him into her core. With a roar of his own, muffled as he clasped her to him, his face burrowing into jointure of neck and shoulder, he joined her in the glow of mutually spent desire.

***

            It was a bit later that the King managed to find the will to move the pair from the bath, making due with a halfhearted drying before depositing himself and his wife on their furred bed. As he lay there panting, a plump body burrowing into his side, he _felt_ the self satisfied smirk steal over his beloved’s face, “And once again, I have proven to know what you need better than you.”

            The squeak she gave when he pinched the side of her stomach was gratifying. The kick to the shin was painful, but deserved. Though Dwalin would be limping the next morning with him after making the stray comment about his hobbit being so well ridden.


End file.
